


Monkeys on the Ladder

by cathybites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathybites/pseuds/cathybites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for <span><a href="http://koneko-meow.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://koneko-meow.livejournal.com/"><b>koneko_meow</b></a></span>: <i>Sam and Dean (gen or wincest) in boarding school 'packing for vacation.'</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Monkeys on the Ladder

The school is eerily quiet, silence having settled over it like the blanket of white snow covering the grounds. Nearly everyone - students and professors alike - has already departed, headed for home and families who would greet them with warm mugs of cider and even warmer smiles and hugs.

None of those await Sam, but he rushes through the halls nonetheless, taking steps two at a time as he sprints to his room. He throws his door open and goes directly to his closet, belatedly realizing that someone is sprawled across his bed, watching him with an amused expression.

"You're late," his brother says, mouth quirking into a wry smirk before he returns his attention to the book he holds before him. Sam notes that Dean has already shed the uniform - no doubt with relish - and is dressed in an old pair of slacks and a wrinkled, unbuttoned shirt. A worn leather satchel rests at the foot of the bed, indicating that Dean is packed and ready to go.

Turning back to his closet, one hand reaching up for his suitcase while the other works at loosening his tie, Sam shrugs. "Sorry, but I wanted to finish up that essay, the one on Sumeria, because I knew I wouldn't have time over the holidays." He tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but it creeps in anyway, tinting the words with flinty sharpness.

A weary sigh, then the rustling sound of Dean getting to his feet before a hand lands on his shoulder, kneading lightly. "Sammy, don't be that way," he says, leaning in close until Sam can feel Dean's familiar warmth against his back. His lips brush over Sam's ear and he can't help the shudder that goes through him, nor the way his head tips forward, exposing the nape of his neck to Dean's mouth.

Dean's breath is humid against his skin, damp warmth that stretches out until Sam can feel it in every part of his being, a lazy, slow but insistent heat that drives away all the doubts and worries Sam carries with him. His hands drop, reaching back to pull Dean closer; as always, Dean complies, pressing so tight against him that Sam's not sure where he ends and Dean begins.

Hands skim his waist, tugging his belt, then his trousers open. Sam makes a half-hearted protest, hands wrapping around Dean's wrists to still them. "We don't have time," he says, the last word ending in a hitching gasp as Dean's teeth graze the straining cord that runs along the side of Sam's neck. "I need to pack my things."

Dean hums - whether in agreement or not, Sam's not sure because at that moment he takes Sam in his hand, the roughened skin of his fingers scratching gently over the smooth skin of his cock. His grip tightens momentarily before quickly sliding up and down the shaft, and Sam moans at the feel of Dean mouthing his ear.

There's a small part of Sam that still hates this, the way Dean can make him come apart so easily, make him forget there are things in the world other than Dean's hands, his mouth, his cock. He knows that he won't have time to properly pack, and that he'll be cursing both himself and Dean for it later, but none of that seems to matter as Dean strokes him twice more, long, stripping pulls that wring Sam's orgasm from him. His head falls back against Dean's shoulder as his hips thrust up in an endless motion, stretching to hold onto that white-hot bliss.

The pleasure ends, though, and Dean presses a kiss to the soft spot behind Sam's ear and wipes his hand on Sam's shorts before tucking him back in his trousers. "Hurry," he says, a hint of mirth in his voice as he pulls away. "Wouldn't want to keep the car waiting."

Sam braces his arms against the frame of the closet door, willing his heartbeat to return to a normal rate. He tilts his head to glare at Dean, but as his mouth opens to retort, there's a knock on the door. "Sir," comes the muffled voice of the groundskeeper, "your transportation has arrived."

"Thank you," calls out Sam and he whirls around to face Dean, who still has that amused smirk. "I told you we had no time," he hisses, turning back to his closet. It takes a moment to realize his suitcase isn't on the top shelf and when he turns, Dean holds it up, a smug look on his face.

"Proper preparation, Sammy," he says, tossing the case to Sam with a grin.


End file.
